


Little Glass House of Horrors

by JennStar



Category: Little Shop of Horrors (1986), Queen Victoria & Lord Melbourne - Fandom, Vicbourne - Fandom, Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Historical Accuracy, Plants, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennStar/pseuds/JennStar
Summary: ***CURRENTLY ON HIATUS***Ordering plants from a catalog in 1840 can be a risky business...Lord Melbourne finds out the hard way that some things never die.(Yes, this is the Vicbourne version of "Little Shop of Horrors")There will be black humor, a ravenous plant, and, oh yes, you will learn A LOT about the history of botany and gardening in the early Victorian era.





	Little Glass House of Horrors

My love is resplendent in ivory, orange blossoms in her hair, a Honiton lace veil trailing behind her.

I am standing here with this blasted Sword of State…Prince Albert, dashing, I suppose, in a red jacketed uniform (has he ever even served in the military? milksop...) has stolen my dreams away.

Scratch that, _I_ did this. To her, to me. Look at my darling girl, with love shining in her eyes for that German twit. I wonder if she knows a good clock repair man? Because all I want to do is bash his head in with a nice, thick copy of that overrated _Oliver_ bloody _Twist._

Or better yet…well, how fast _would_  it take for him to bleed out if I were to just…How would I even go about that? (By “that” I mean ramming this blasted Sword of State straight through his gullet. Would be most satisfying.)

But then Victoria would become a widow, so bereft…

No, Melbourne – banish the thought! You are no murderer. You are her champion. She’s counting on you.

That’s it. Chin up! Keep this thing level. It would be endlessly embarrassing were I to drop this.

 _Please_ let this be over soon. This coat is so itchy and tight and I cannot move an inch. Maybe I can will the itching away.

Oh, but put up with it, man – just a little longer. She loves you in this ridiculous Windsor kit.

Love _-d_ , I should say. Hmm…

Oh no, she’s giving me that look! Give her a smile. Oh God, _I hate this_ , but oh, Victoria – my heart… _Why are you doing this to me_? With _him_!?

Why did I turn you away at Brocket Hall with that pathetic drivel about rooks?

Let me be clear on this front, and I shall speak of it no more: Caro was never my rook. She was an annoying, conniving, blood-sucking, nymphomaniac with a penchant for poetry that reeled me in, but that penchant drove her to…Good _GOD_ the stories I could divulge (and these things have, thankfully, _not_ been published).

Well, better not. This is a church.

I should also refrain from thinking about harpooning Prince Albert with this sword.

I swear, sometimes I wish I never became Prime Minister. Or a politician. I could have just been…a gardener. A simple gentleman gardener who liked to observe the mating habits of strange birds (and talk to them if I got lonely). That would not have been so awful, would it?

Instead, what do I have left?

Oh yes, plants. My plants will love me until the very bitter end.

In case you couldn't guess, my name is William Lamb, and when I get home from this travesty, I plan to drink copious amounts of brandy and sulk.


End file.
